The Crimson Dagger - Vatican Knights Series 23 (2020) by Rick Jones (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

When Hartwig nodded, his teeth clicked against the suppressor.

“I’m going to remove the weapon from your mouth. Remember, if you scream, you die. Yes?”

Another nod.

Slowly, Zamir removed the point of the silencer from Hartwig’s mouth.

Then from Hartwig, whose tone lacked any measure of bravado, even though he tried in earnest to sound bold, said, “Who are you? What do you want?” When he turned and saw the second man standing in the shadows, he noticed that the other side of the bed was empty. “My wife? What have you done with her?”

“Let’s get one thing straight between us right now,” Zamir stated evenly. “You are not in any position to question anything I say. I provide the orders and you follow them. It’s that simple.”

“Where’s my Marta?”

“Get up, Mr. Klein. And remember what I said about refusing to follow my commands. Don’t be stupid.” Zamir, with his weapon trained, backed away from the bedside. “Up.”

Hartwig tossed back the sheets. He was wearing striped pajamas. Then he got to his feet. He was a small and diminutive man with a receding hairline and a pointed chin, which clearly trembled as though gelatinous. “Please, at least tell me why you’re doing this . . . Where my Marta is.”

“Your questions will be answered and made clear in time.” Zamir placed the mouth of the suppressor against Hartwig’s forehead. “Ask me one more thing, Mr. Klein, it will be the last thing that comes out of your mouth. Clear?”

Hartwig nodded as his eyes began to well.

“Now move.”

Hartwig Klein of Germany’s Bundestag was about to become an unwitting pawn in the scheme of all things.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Kristallpalast

Two leading members from the Austrian Federal Police, or the Bundespolizei, and dressed accordingly with their rank, that of suit and tie, had entered the lobby with a host of uniformed officers, who quickly spread out across the area with their 9mm Glocks panning from side to side, searching.

The lead officers went immediately to the registration desk, which was manned by two women who appeared perplexed and awed, even when the officers flashed them their credentials.

The taller one was cadaverous in appearance and had the pasty-face look of an undertaker. And with skin as pale as the underbelly of a fish, the gray circles around his eyes gave him somewhat of a haunted look. His partner, in contrast, had an olive-green complexion and eyes the color of emeralds.

The bone-thin looking officer looked at the first woman’s nametag that read LARISSA.

Tipping his hat to her, though the woman appeared more interested in looking past his shoulder to see the endless swirls of lights in the streets, he smiled casually and asked, “Ms. Larissa, if I may have a moment of your time, please.”

She looked at the suited officer. “Is something wrong?”

“Twenty minutes ago, a man walked into this lobby, do you happen to know what room he went to?”

She shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing since there’s a few hundred people here. People come and go all the time.”

The tall officer maintained his kind and gentle smile. “But you would help me, yes?”

“Of course.”

With a bony hand whose finger appeared to have the length and thinness equal to the tine of a pitchfork, he then pointed to the cameras that were positioned throughout the lobby. “Those cameras,” he said, “record in live time, I presume?”

“They do.”

“Then I would appreciate, along with my partner, the opportunity to review the current tapes.”

“I would need permission from my supervisor.”

“Please,” he said, “get it.” When he said the final two words— ‘get it’ —there was a definite hint of authority behind them, a touch of insistence.

“Yes. Of course.”

After a call was placed, a man wearing a vest and shirt entered the registration area from an office that was for management personnel only. He, too, appeared nonplussed by the heavy police activity and presence as he scanned the lobby.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

The two girls behind the counter stepped aside as the manager, whose nametag read HANS, took lead at the desk.

“Twenty minutes ago,” said the tall man, “a person of interest walked inside this lobby and, I assume, to his room, along with other people who entered this building from different points. I’m also going to assume that you have cameras situated throughout the property, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“I would like to view the images.”

“May I ask what this is all about?”

“You can. But only while we’re watching the tapes. I’ll talk you through everything that’s happening as we go along.”

“Yes. Certainly. Please, follow me.”

The pair of suited officers followed Hans to a virtually soundproof room that had no windows. TV screens and monitors filled one wall. There were multiple images, interior and exterior, with more than ten dozen viewpoints of the property.

On one of the screens was the front of the building. Police vehicles were stacked close together like a traffic jam, and lights swung inside their bars.

“I saw your approach,” Hans told the tall officer. “The question is: why?”

“There was a theft from the Austrian Imperial Palace,” the officer answered. “Many have been reported killed. The men responsible, we believe, are taking up residency inside this hotel.”

Hans didn’t know what to say, his mouth moving in mute protest. It was obvious to the officer that the manager was thinking about the hotel’s reputation, or what this episode would do to tarnish its stellar image.

“If I may examine the tape, Hans, I would appreciate it. The faster we can settle the matter, the faster life can get back to normal life, yes?”

Hans nodded, though he seemed lost at the moment. Then: “Yes. Of course.”

There were six men monitoring the screens, with each having the responsibility to watch certain areas of the hotel. The first requested image was that of the lobby, which clearly showed a man entering the area with the same capture-time of the TrafficCom telematics system, a GPS confirmation, and hotel surveillance, with the moment becoming